


Le coup de grâce

by flyingisabetterwordforfalling (FlyingFalling)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Protective Eames, Sexual Content, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 17:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12392364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFalling/pseuds/flyingisabetterwordforfalling
Summary: Honesty is a valuable thing which has to be kept within bounds -especially, when you do what they do for a living; you may stay close to the truth but never actually say what is going on inside your mind. In the best case scenario, you block intruders out before they might get too close. Might is a nasty word in their profession. Once blurring the lines between what might be a dream and what might be reality has become your daily life, colleagues and friends are usually not an expected part of your world anymore, if they ever were to begin with.Most of them swear they have only ever trusted themselves. Therefore, it is a little ironic, to bet put to sleep and having to trust others to keep your unconscious body safe, isn't it?





	Le coup de grâce

Honesty is a valuable thing which has to be kept within bounds -especially, when you do what they do for a living; you may stay close to the truth but never actually say what is going on inside your mind. In the best case scenario, you block intruders out before they might get too close. Might is a nasty word in their profession. Once blurring the lines between what might be a dream and what might be reality has become your daily life, colleagues and friends are usually not an expected part of your world anymore, if they ever were to begin with.  
  
Most of them swear they have only ever trusted themselves. Therefore, it is a little ironic, to bet put to sleep and having to trust others to keep your unconscious body safe, isn't it?  
  
There is a heavy weight on his chest, forcing him to be left behind while the world seems to have turned upside down. His ears are ringing and he is certainly more pissed off than hurt, still that will not last long, for a little while now the adrenaline will cloud his brain and only then the pain will take over. Eames could kick his own ass if that were anatomically possible, which it should be in this case. This was nothing more than a rookie mistake.

 His wrist feels as if it may be broken, which it probably is anyway, thus it is useless to him now and any effort to actively free himself. So, what can he do, expect wait. A sudden, there had been an explosion and when he had opened his eyes he was buried under a heap of rubble, and come to think of it, whatever may be piercing through his leg may actually kill him sooner or later and he cannot even end it himself. Instead, he is forced to just lie there and endure the pain.  
  
Pain sucks.

 While dying itself can be quick and almost easy, pain is often slow and literally bloody and yes, that was definitely a main artery. At least it will be over sooner than he had expected it to be. He hears voices, someone yelling for him or rather the person he is supposed to be this time, his clouded brain cannot quite make out if the person is supposed to be on his side or not.  
  
  
Then there are hands on his shoulders and when he blinks, all of a sudden fully aware of where he is and who has gotten him out of there, Arthur is leaning over him. His expression is as unreadable as ever, well, if you do not know him that is.  
  
Eames knows how to read him, at least when he is angry or irritated. When it comes to Arthur, there never seems to be something in between -if you are an outsider and have not yet learnt to look behind his mask, hence to Eames he appears slightly startled, upset even. Eames did, after all, almost risk their entire mission.  
  
Nonetheless, Arthur heaves an exasperated sigh and just keeps his hand on Eames' shoulder for a little while longer, a few seconds at the most, his long fingers as light as a feather, skimming absentmindedly over the part where Eames is sure to still feel the echo of whatever it was that had rendered his upper body useless just moments before. It is idiotic, and he knew what to expect, but when he glimpses down there is no blood. He is alive, not dying. -Anyhow, that's something.      
  
"Ta, luv."  
  
His accent is heavy and Arthur does him the small favour of not commenting on the matter.

 Therefore, the only answer Eames gets is the point man giving him a look that clearly tells Eames where he can shove his pet names, before Arthur turns around again and does what he does best: making sure whatever Eames managed to screw up this time is set right again. Well, most of the time it is one of the Cobbs who messes things up for either Eames or Arthur to set them right again. Actually, it is just one of Arthur's many talents, not that Eames would ever say that out loud.  
  
It is, by no means, surprising that Arthur not only manages to save their mission single-handedly while Eames takes care not too obviously pass out right next to him. He is neither weak nor tired, yet he is exhausted and cannot wait to actually sleep for real, without unfinished work waiting for him as soon as he closes his eyes.  
  
Once Arthur seems to calm down, Eames gets up and leaves without another word, not even listening to Arthur's faint muttering behind him.  
  
Even Arthur curses under his breath, a minimal taint to tarnish his otherwise flawless appearance, when no one but Eames is around to hear him do it.  It is kind of endearing, really.  
  
Whatever he does, wherever he is, Arthur always seems so posh and uptight. The man without emotions. The truth is quite the contrary.  
  
On the outside, he may look like any other business man, and yet Eames would never describe his appearance as boring or plain, the man knew how to wear suits properly after all and it was a rare occasion seeing him wearing something else.  
  
Years and years, Eames had hoped that one day he might get Arthur to take off all these layers he hid himself under, both figuratively speaking as well as literally. Getting him to do one of these options was far easier than the other.   
  
Other people in their profession mostly preferred more blatant weaponry, not to say that Arthur was not quite attached to his Glock and from time to time throwing knifes,  all the same even without his weapons, his tongue and entire demeanour could be as sharp and equally as deadly as the blade of a knife.  
  
Their snide remarks, their mock flirting was barely suitable for work according to Yusuf's lewd innuendos and  Cobb's fed up groaning and old habit of leaving the room whenever he seemed to think  that the two of them might be moments away from strangling one another. In moments like these, when Yusuf kept laughing long after Cobb had fled and Arthur discreetly but almost fondly rolled his eyes at either of their reactions Eames missed Mal the most -even though he had not known her all that well- but he knew Arthur would only truly be happy if he found someone like her again, a true friend he could entrust his life to.    
  
Having known Arthur for years, dancing around one another had shown that Eames' could not be that kind of person. In a way, it was so much easier to pretend that everything was just a game between them, at best something like cooperative camaraderie, nothing one might call serious. Eames knew, of course, that Arthur was not oblivious to the attraction that seemed to pull them together and yet it was nothing more than plain animal magnetism. Sexual appeal.  
  
It could not be more than that, surely Arthur knew that as well. Noticing and creating details where others might not, was, after all, one of the key benefits of working with him. He must know, there was no other explanation for the way he sometimes glanced over at Eames when he was certain no one else was watching.  
  
Whoever Eames portrayed, no matter how good his performance was, in the end Arthur always seemed to recognize him due to the smallest scraps of information, certain mannerisms, that might give him away. Somehow it scares Eames, being aware of another person knowing him so well, inside and out. Secretly, Eames hopes never ever having to work against Arthur.  
  
It would most definitely result in their very own thrill of the chase, mixed with anticipation, excitement and the underlying tension between one another. However, nothing was more exiting than having Arthur on your side, the simple knowledge that he had Eames' back, which resulted in them keeping each other safe at all times. If he was honest, and Eames pretty much never truly was, it was utterly terrifying not being able to wear his usual disguise around Arthur.  


He remembers waking up next to Arthur, at work and in bed, it does not even matter anymore where; it always follows the same pattern. Each one of them slept with one eye open, cautious, always ready to leap into the next fight, at least that is what Eames assumes from having seen Arthur asleep outside of work exactly one time.  
  
  
Arthur does not trust anyone, neither does Eames, and it is okay to know that even barely awake he could hurt you due to an unexpected  move. There is nothing unusual about it, after all it comes with the job: it is as natural to them as always being ready to leave, having their travelling bags packed and ready at all times, just in case filled with cash, fake IDs and documents that were meant to ensure their safety.  
  
Eames had followed this pattern for years. It is not too different with Arthur because if you had done their kind of job long enough, you just knew you had to be ready to get up and go underground if things got out of hand without being able to take anyone with you.  
  
Pragmatic, to the point, whatever it is between them, it is certainly not a relationship. They could not even be called neither friends nor colleagues. Being colleagues meant being loyal and being loyal was not something Eames had seriously taken into consideration before, trusting people only then to be stabbed in the back was not actually on his priority list. In his opinion, there was and could not be any kind of loyalty to one specific person or team.  
  
Of course, with the exception having been Arthur and the Cobbs but besides them Eames had never met people so intent on staying together and working as a unit. They had been a group that was so geared to each other, no one had actually thought about hiring one without the other two even though their closeness had more than once been called weird and impractical. Nevertheless, they had stayed together, uncaring what other people might think or say about them. It had been like that for a long time, before, well, everything had gone pear-shaped.    
  
In the first few years, when Eames and Arthur had just recently been introduced by  Dom and had worked together maybe one or two times, Arthur's seemingly puppy love for Mal -even though she had been already married to Dom- had been adorable. Needless to say, it was far more complicated than that.  
  
Most people seemed to be convinced that it must have been Dom, but in truth, it had indeed been her who had showed Arthur their world. It had been Mal who had showed him the well-nigh endlessness of a dreamer's mind.  Arthur had looked up to her as well as to her husband ever since then, that much had been obvious to anyone who had worked with them repeatedly. Once upon a time, the three of them had actually been a force to be reckoned with.  
  
Expect then Mallorie had seemingly been affected by some kind of maladie, a sickness of the mind, which Eames had learnt only after Cobb had retired to be with his children, when the rest of them went on a bout of drinking in celebration of actually having accomplished what almost everyone before them had called an infeasible intention.  
  
Ariadne had told Arthur about some things that had been obvious, at least according to her, if one might actually have bothered to look carefully enough beforehand. If she were not as smart and good at her job, even more so by being short on experience, Eames would evidentially have advised her not to ask Arthur about his past.  
  
All these years ago, Eames had simply pretended not to notice Arthur's distress while at the same time still attempting to keep an eye on him, telling himself it would be a waste should Arthur's potential be overcome by grief  -nowadays Arthur seemed all too eager to drown his memories by accepting the boldest job offers he could get his hands on in an attempt to keep his mind busy.  
  
From all the things he could have chosen instead, Arthur just had had to learn the one thing from Eames that would rather sooner than later lead to irreversible self-destruction.  
  
However, Eames knew that he had no right to try and defend Arthur like that, they had never talked about it but by now he firmly believed that Arthur would not appreciate someone coddling him like a child.  
  
Thus, Eames quietened down his thoughts by reminding himself that some people simply preferred to keep certain aspects of their lives private and, amongst themselves, no one ever actually asked about other people's business or mental health expect, of course, the ones who were too new to know what kind of emotional baggage some of them might carry about with them.  
  
Speaking of which, Eames and Arthur had waited for the others, well Eames had actually waited mainly for Arthur at the baggage claim but once they had left the airport Arthur had bluntly told him that he had already booked a hotel and would be leaving the States for a few months in the morning. Therefore, that evening had been the last time they had actually sat together as this mismatched group of people. Even Saito had sat with them at the bar for a while before leaving to wherever a man of his calibre vanished off to.  
  
In the course of the evening, Eames had somehow felt left out, Ariadne had looked askew and in the end had avoided talking to him altogether. Yusuf had already taken a connecting flight, and unlike Arthur he had not been willing to humour them with his presence, talking about not wanting to waste an opportunity to earn even more money -for the umpteenth time Eames had wondered whether Yusuf just pretended to be only ever after the money and in fact did have to provide for a family he had hidden well enough for even Eames or the rest of them not to be able to find these potential relatives of his.  

  
After all, Eames did not ask Arthur why he might have chosen to stay, anyhow it had bothered him to know the other man could have left sooner as well and in the end had not. They had bid their respective adieus to the others and eventually gone their separate ways for many months to come. Eames had worked with Yusuf from time to time, but the last time he had heard of or rather from Ariadne she had been back home in France.    
  
In the aftermath, once his life was relatively back to normal, at least by his standards, Eames had once and for all tried to move away from the idea of maybe trying to get in contact with Arthur to ask him if he would like to actually spend time with him. The mere thought of asking if they could take some time off together, now that Cobb did not need them to work together anymore, was as fleeting as the other one before it.      
  
Even the very idea in itself was foolish. The feelings accompanying it were worse than during their first job as a team, when Eames had rather resembled a stumbling block than the skilled forger he had already been back then. Mr and Mrs Cobb had, of course, been all too keen on improvising and after an unfortunate series of events Eames had to adopt several appearances in a row and had thus been slightly weary in the end. Weary had turned into unwary and despite having been careful, up until that point, he had been shot.  
  
Had it been a bit unnerving when Arthur, who had been working as their architect back then, found him hunched over a staircase railing and simply taken Eames' gun still clutched to his blood-smeared chest, while his fingers were gradually going numb? Eames was not very fond of other people taking his weapons, but even back then, it had not been as unnerving to be relieved of his weapon as it possibly should have been.  
  
While he had been glad that it would be over soon, Arthur had barely managed to hide his chagrin about the incident. Moreover, ever since that mission Eames had not seen Arthur look at him like that again, not once. Their team's architect had seemed disappointed, somehow mad at himself for not having calculated every single possible outcome of their mission entirely through even though it had not even been his fault that everything had gotten out of hand.    
  
All the same, Eames remembers the way Arthur had looked him up and down then, obviously sizing the perfect point of entry before he eventually leveled his own gun at Eames' temple.  
Still, saying his aim had been completely steady at the time would be a lie: there had been something, an uncertain look maybe, a slight wavering of his fingers, before Arthur had concealed himself behind his usual mask of unswerving professionalism and eventually pulled the trigger. In spite of that, the gentle reverberation of "Go to sleep, Mr Eames" had followed him into the waking state.  
  
Eames had been gasping for breath when he came to wake up, somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Central Europe or to be more precise an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere in Saxony, Germany. He had not liked this mission long before they had even gotten there, and had only agreed to work with the happily married couple and their foundling due to owing Dom a favour -Arthur had literally snarled at Eames not to patronize him like that and  had and only shut up about it when Eames started calling him baby instead.  
  
Nevertheless, having to decipher this kind of broad accented German had been quite the challenge and Eames was actually more disgruntled by that then by the job going downhill. When he had actually complained about it, Arthur had compared the mixture of local dialects with Eames' own cockney accent, thus effectively silencing his complaints -it did not matter what Arthur said, Eames had not been sulking.     
  
Out of habit, after making sure they were safe even though their chemist had already given the according signal, he had looked over and seen Arthur's still unconscious body as he finished the job with the Cobbs and the rest of the team they had been working with at the time.    
  
He had allowed himself to take some time and for once think about what had happened. Each bullet would have shattered Eames' actual bones like the porcelain figurines he had sent Arthur in the first few months of knowing him, from all over the world, somehow making sure to let Arthur know that wherever he might hide Eames would find him eventually, which was not even meant to be a threat -and so would the hideous little souvenirs, which in fact was absolutely meant to be a threat.  
  
Eames had only stopped doing so because Arthur had tracked him down as well and showed up in the little apartment in a suburb of Paris Eames had owned all these years ago, he would honestly be surprised if it still existed nowadays,  what was also worthy of mention was that Arthur had carefully chosen to show up in the early morning hours to pay Eames a visit.  
  
Not even fully awake, notwithstanding unblinking Eames had had his gun already in a firm grip, and held it firmly pressed to Arthur's throat when the other had not even been entirely inside the room yet. The familiar weight of Arthur's body -from carrying him around in the rare occurrences that he could not move on his own anymore due to injuries or like that one time when Eames managed to drink him under the table and had to carry him back to their hotel- had quite literally saved the intruder's life. The familiarity of his weight had been the only reason why Eames had not immediately killed the other man the moment Arthur had broken into his bedroom, or rather broken in through his bedroom window.  
  
  
Hours later, once they had eventually left the bedroom altogether, maybe to argue over who got to shower first Eames did not remember that kind of details anymore, Arthur had called Eames a careless idiot for having put his bed under the roof window at all. Arthur had then added in a chiding tone  that a burglar could have simply dropped down or killed him from above without even having to gain access to the inside of the house.  
  
Giving the honest answer, that he simply liked being woken up by the first rays of sunshine had earned Eames one of Arthur's rare honest laughs. It was a disbelieving one, however also one where his eyes were sparkling a little while he actually showed his dimples and then promptly tried to hide them by pulling one of Eames' pillows over his head. He had been so young and inexperienced back then, so open and affectionate.  
  
Just sitting there together, their shoulders touching lightly while they were wrapped in Eames' blanket and sipping their respective tea and coffee was still one of his favourite memories of them just being together. Eames remembered how young Arthur had seemed, and truth be told, he had actually just barely been in his mid-twenties then.  
  
The early-morning sun had been casting his bare shoulders in a warm glow and his head had rested carelessly thrown back on top of the pillows when Eames had climbed between Arthur's legs to tease the most beautiful of noises out of him. He had tasted the back-then almost unfamiliar skin, touched every little part, tried to remember everything at once. He had by now means been able to understand the sudden need to commit every little reaction to memory -just like the trembling of Arthur's legs, or the needy almost filthy sounds whenever Eames touched or licked over a particularly sensitive spot- for years to come.  
  
Everything he had cared thinking about then had been Arthur's black hair, fanned out on the pearly-white mostly rumpled sheets was worth remembering, worth desiring, worth so much more than that. Eames had been content to savour this few precious hours, inclined to think this was a one-off. People might call him all kinds of things but he still dared to think there were very few who would call him a lousy lover.  
  
Thus, he gave as much as he was willing to give and in exchange took everything Arthur had offered in return when his fingers had clung to Eames' and his eyes had suddenly fluttered shut. Before meeting Arthur, Eames had not actually been one to hold hands during sex, especially not with people he worked with.  
  
That very moment, when the other man had been digging his fingernails into the back of Eames' hand, had been the final proof, if Eames had needed even a single reason more, that Arthur did nothing half-heartedly. In the heat of the moment, he seemed to fall apart at the seams, laying bare a part of him Eames was certain not many people had ever seen before him.  
  
It had been unexpected, even more so when he was absolutely certain of being able to read every single person with ease, to just know what they would do or say next he had met this complex person he understood perfectly, but did not at the same time.  
  
He might have been a bloody good shag but that had been it, no strings attached, and Eames knew that Arthur had not been naive, had fully well known they would continue working together as if they had never shared a bed at all.

  
After having avoided intimacy of the emotional sort for so long, however, it had scared Eames shitless, witnessing another person readily displaying their feelings like that, if not for him then just in general. It did not actually matter as long as Arthur was waiting for him to acknowledge the unexpected sense of belonging -Eames had wasted years to finally pinpoint exactly what it was that kept pulling him towards Arthur.  
  
Instead of just doing that, instead of saying anything at all, Eames had waited for Arthur to fall asleep once he came round before he climbed out of bed. It had been too much all at once and whenever he felt trapped it had always either been fight or flight.

 

He had covered Arthur carefully with his blanket, made sure he would be comfortable and allowed himself a few precious moments of watching the other man sleep peacefully for once. Then Eames had gotten dressed before silently packing up his most important belongings. Even though he was sure to have woken up the younger man along the way, Eames still had left the way Arthur had come in, never looked back to make sure if his assumption was right or not.  
  
They had not seen one another for almost an entire year after that particular meeting and when they did it was Arthur who had apologized for his behaviour and asked with a semi-casual grin if they could see each other again, somewhere more private perhaps. The asshole that he was, Eames had agreed. Arthur had maybe not been in love with Eames, not then, but Eames had always been good at analyzing people and somehow Arthur had gotten under his skin while he had been looking for something casual.  
  
He was willing to condone the soft eyes and gentle touches whenever Arthur was not careful enough to pretend he did not care about Eames or their encounters of whatever kind they may be. It had unsettled Eames that he could not read Arthur entirely, and thus he was convinced Arthur actually wanted him to notice and confront him with any reaction he might have regarding whatever this unspoken thing between might turn out to be or become.  

 

By sleeping together they had started something way more complicated than Eames had anticipated and yet he could neither bring himself to regret any of what had happened between them nor could he end it, not even after he was finally certain that Arthur actually did care about and maybe even love him.  
  
Thus, before Eames knew how and when it might have happened, it had already been years of playing pretend: Arthur seemed to feign nonchalance and seemingly waited for Eames to finally speak while Eames believed to know what the other was waiting for and in return waited himself, for Arthur to get sick of waiting and find someone better suited for him, someone who might not end up dead at any given moment.

 

They more often than not had become one another's liberators, administered the fatal coup de grâce to end the other man's suffering only then to wake up in the real world again. In reality, Eames could not endure the thought that one day he might be the reason for Arthur getting hurt -and he did, he had seen him covered in blood, cuts and bruises countless times- or worse killed due to the other not thinking rationally and trying to rescue him.  
  
Eames was not that much of an egotistical prick to believe he could not get in danger, or captured by whoever might be after him at the time and he knew how Arthur could get if you threatened people he cared about.    
  
Arthur had kept his secrets and feelings hidden from most people but Eames almost as long as they had known one another. Still, they rarely if ever met outside work-related encounters. They worked together from time to time, every few months or sometimes years, and every now and again got each other off during their other kind of encounters.

 

While Eames never stays over, Arthur does not either.  
Eames never asks him to, neither does Arthur.  
  
It is just as simple as that, as long as they do not talk about feelings they can both pretend there never were any to begin with. Maybe it is a cruel thing, calling Arthur all kinds of pet names, but Eames cannot seem to stop his habit of doing do. It stuck, just like them behaving the way they do. He is not ready, and doubts he ever will be, to admit to himself that he likes the way he simply connects certain words with Arthur or the way the other man says his name in that too fond way of his.  


This behaviour is as familiar as simply not talking about any of this, they fall into bed together, well if they actually make it to a bed and pretend everything is alright. Meanwhile, Eames sticks to his opinion of not being ready to deal with other people's emotional baggage or his own for that matter. Hence, the two of them silently agree that talking about this is totally unnecessary.   
  
  
Expect for when it is suddenly not anymore, and Arthur, one day almost seemingly out of  nowhere, stands in one of Eames' shabby hide-outs in Mombasa and just stares at him as if he could get Eames to talk by just gazing at him in that  particular way which is usually directed at puzzles or codes he wants to decipher.  
  
It is then, that Eames realizes this might be their last meeting outside of work and if it comes to the worst maybe even their well and truly final meeting. They cannot be friends, not that they actually were headed in that direction he once again tries to tell himself -Eames would deny ever having been close to Arthur with everything he had, even if it would be an outright lie. Maybe the biggest one he has ever told.    
  
The truth is plain and simple: he cannot stand to be near Arthur. Not after everything they have shared, not after everything he knows about the other and certainly not when Arthur knows so much about him. In some way, that should be a reason to stay close to him, to at least make sure he is not going to use this clear advantage of knowing him all too intimately against Eames.

  
It is terrifying, but not so much when it is Arthur, which should not make as much sense as it does. When it is Arthur however, who knows him that well, when Arthur is the one person who can read him unlike any other, it may even be okay in the long run. Arthur will not use it against him, Eames might have doubts about many things, after all scrutinising everything is what keeps him alive, but Arthur never gave rise to doubts.  
  
Being close to other people makes you a target and  turns these people into targets as well. Therefore, they cannot be close, it is as simple and easy as that.  
  
When he looks Arthur in the eyes then, standing there, almost unrecognisable in the soft light of the evening sun, pretending to casually lean against his front door however, Eames knows there is nothing left between them that could be described as okay. This is exactly why it has to stop.  
Arthur sighs, as if he might actually be able to guess what Eames is thinking, his eyes lose their vacant stare. Hesitantly, he steps a little closer and Eames can finally make out his expression in the dimmed lighting.

 

Arthur looks self-composed but his shoulders seem a little hunched, all kinds of other little details about his posture show Eames how tired he actually is underneath his armour consisting of a tight-fitting suit and certainly bright polished dress shoes which Eames cannot actually make out due to the setting sun. Unfortunately Arthur is neither wearing a tie nor waistcoat underneath his suit coat and must have dressed in a hurry then or come here straight from the airport.     
  
"Thank you for letting me in, Mr Eames." It is not his usual behaviour to be this curt around Eames, he says his name all wrong, so in lieu of an answer Eames puts on an exaggerated care-free smile and allows Arthur to pass through.  
  
"If you want to see me you don't have to break into my cosy little home, darling." His voice sounds more belligerent than intended, even to his own ears. For once Eames is not eager to provoke a fight, still Arthur turns around and crosses his arms in front of his chest, clearly preparing for a noisy quarrel.  
  
 "You left your door literally wide open, well, as open as it can be if you're used to breaking and entering. Seriously, where is your security system? That couldn't have been everything... one day you'll get yourself killed, Mr Eames!"  
  
There it is, the once again overly formal use of his name and somehow it annoys Eames to no end that Arthur has the nerve to sound unimpressed as if he had not expected anything else from him even though he is, in fact, the one who just moments ago had spent time overwriting every single code and password to get in. He would be a lost cause if he had not noticed someone trying to gain access to his property but Eames knew Arthur's preferred working routine and had thus recognized his signature immediately. For the last half hour he had stood in front of the door, waiting for Arthur to let himself in.   
  
Still, Arthur could have called, like a normal person would have, could have answered Eames' rather obvious search and clues for him and instead of doing anything for months he had just vanished every time Eames came close or thought he might have been close to him. The only thing he had found instead, every single time, were empty, sometimes even seemingly hastily abandoned buildings.  
   
"You're one to talk, mister! You ran-"  
  
Arthur actually snorts, his face turns even more grim than before, if he were not as angry as he is right now, Eames would certainly be sold on the sparkling eyes. But right now they are sparkling with anger and he knows Arthur is seconds away from pushing him into the nearest wall. It would not be the first time, not even under these circumstances.  
  
Eames knows Arthur's current body tension well enough to know that even though he cannot properly see them, Arthur's fists are clenched where he is holding them close to his body in an attempt not to lose his temper.     
    
"Cut the crap, Eames! Who ran first? Who left me like some cheap whore after a one-night-stand? Again, I might add!"  
  
Eames is suddenly in front of Arthur, forcing the other to back off slightly. He might insult him, but Eames will neither allow Arthur to speak badly of what has happened nor himself, besides Eames had never thought of the other man in any of those terms.  
  
They are close enough that Eames can smell his own aftershave on Arthur's skin and some part of him revels in the knowledge that Arthur has apparently kept the flacon Eames forgot at some random hotel and actually smells like him. As if he might actually have come to stay which is a dangerous thought. It is not possible, he cannot, and Eames could never take advantage of Arthur by asking if he would do so regardless so he disregards what he actually wants to say, accordingly resorts to his usual sarcasm.   
 

"Do you actually want me to answer that, darling?" His own voice sounds now equally as waspish as Arthur's and as a result the other man shoves Eames hard enough that he stumbles backwards. Within seconds however, he is standing in front of Arthur again, glaring at him. When he speaks next, Arthur's voice is lower than before, as he clearly struggles to keep the situation in check.  
  
"I am not your _darling_ , Eames! Nor will I ever again be your booty call, boy toy or whatever else you secretly call me!"        
  
Arthur's words hit a nerve, Eames actually had enjoyed their time together and he thought it had been consensual to sleep together without any kind of attachment even after they had both more or less started to get emotionally attached to the other.

He did like Arthur, cared for him and the mere thought of him not responding to Eames' calls and all his other attempts to finally get a hold of him had made him anxious to say the least. He could not deal with losing people, therefore caring about Arthur was clearly not something he indented to think, or worse, talk about.    
  
  
"Why are you here then? Don't you have anyone else to yell at now that Cobbs is gone to be the picture-perfect family man and Ariadne has buggered off to the city of love?"  
  
Arthur is close enough that Eames sees the faint blush before he suddenly seems to develop a great interest in the pattern of the carpet, and Eames remembers that they had never actually talked about Paris, strictly speaking, they had not talked about a lot of things. Still, Arthur opens his mouth to say something but his answer is faint, almost as if he does not actually want Eames to hear the words, would rather have them lost in the space between them, not unsaid but rather left unheard, unacknowledged.  
  
"Come again, sweetheart?"  
  
The look that is directed at him could most certain frighten any other person, but Eames does not even care about the intensity of it, knows the intention behind it and thus just steps even closer once more, until he is right in front of Arthur, their chests so close he can feel Arthur's body heat.  
  
Against his better judgment, he tilts the other man's head to the side, his fingers caressing his neck before he presses his lips against Arthur's soft skin at the crook of his neck. He can feel Arthur's pulse there, his steadily beating heart, feels the beating become irregular when he closes his eyes to deeply breath in and then out again, his breath ghosting over Arthur's skin. When he cannot see his face anymore Arthur eventually repeats his words, sounding insecure as if he is telling Eames a profound secret.  
  
"After the flat in Bristol got crashed, rumor had it you hadn't made it out in time, or that you might have been kidnapped. No one knew where you where. Not even Yusuf. He wouldn't even talk to me at first, thought he might put you at risk even though he had no idea where you'd gone but he was the only one who was convinced you hadn't... that you weren't..."   
  
Eames lets him talk until his voice is nothing more than a hushed whisper, and he kisses Arthur's neck in lieu of an apology. It is the only thing he can do. They both know it would have been foolish either way should he actually have left his sanctuary to let the few people who seemed to consider him to be their friend -despite his best efforts to keep people away- know that he was still alive. Nonetheless, he wants to reassure Arthur, tell him that he is indeed fine, that everything is going to be alright from now on but the worlds will not come out, they would be a hollow promise at best anyway.  
  
Arthur does not push him away again or tries to leave, instead his hands grasp onto the back of Eames's shirt, cautiously above his hips as if he is not sure if he is even allowed to touch him anymore even though Eames is very clearly touching Arthur -and also uncertain if this is alright after all.

  
There is a faint memory inside his head, reminding him they should talk but instead he cannot keep his hands to himself. Eames has other plans than to let go, so he reaches for one of Arthur's hands and maneuvers the both of them so that he ends up between Arthur's legs and arms. He lets himself be trapped like that, unready to name the implication behind his actions.  
  
Still, in equal measure, Eames himself holds onto Arthur's waistband, unwilling to touch the bare skin underneath it just yet. Arthur deserves an answer, an answer that may be important enough to him that he travelled halfway across the world to finally hear it. Eames just stays there with Arthur, lets himself be held like that, finds himself unwilling to let go, almost as if he is the one holding on for dear life and not the other way around.   
  
They do not actually continue talking, neither do they finally clarify the unspoken question of what this is between them.  
  
Seemingly waiting to be rejected, Arthur presses his lips to Eames', tugging at his clothes with one hand, while the other holds onto his head in a vice-like grip. As if trying to convince him not to run again, he licks eagerly into Eames's mouth and the latter blocks out the nagging questions what it might be that Arthur wants here or from him because he knows.  
  
Instead, he concentrates on the soft pressure of lips on bare skin while Arthur, never ceasing an opportunity to multitask, unzips Eames' trousers. He is by no means hesitant when he starts to stroke him through his briefs. Most of his impulse control seems to be somehow connected to Eames' own because hesitance never actually seemed to be a word in Arthur's vocabulary in relation to Eames.  
  
A few years ago, Eames would have joked about Arthur's eagerness to get him out of his clothes. Nonetheless, right now it is nowhere near fast enough. Just being able to touch Arthur, having him here pressed against his body almost overwhelms Eames with the desire to claim the other man, and even more so to never let him go again.  
  
It does not help that Arthur knows how he might react to every single touch and so Eames moves his head a bit to suck a bruise into the other man's neck, and slightly shudders when Arthur's hand slips into his briefs to cup his balls and immediately finds a spot that makes Eames almost shiver with want.  
  
Neither of them seems to notice the darkness around them, touching one another like this under its veil had always been so much easier, they could drop all pretence and cherish the illusion of what might but never could be possible.  
  
  
If it were any other person, Eames would most certainly be embarrassed about having to fight off the intense need to come just from the simple knowledge that Arthur's long fingers are pretty much lazily stroking up and down his dick now without actually doing anything that usually gets him off. He is torn between wanting to run his fingers through Arthur's hair -when the other cautiously starts to increase his motions- and wanting to sink to his knees and return the favour.  
  
A little while later, Eames is suddenly being pressed against his bedroom door while trying his best to get them both out of their clothes as quickly as possible. In the end, he is bare-chested and both of them have lost their footwear before Eames impatiently reaches for Arthur's shirt buttons and while the other man glares at him in warning, Eames just shrugs and sends the buttons flying. Still, Arthur looks more fond than seriously angry at him, so it does not seem to be that big of a deal.  
  
Within seconds he makes a strangled hissing noise when Eames more or less nibbles at his throat only to get lower and lower, painting a wet stripe down Arthur's sternum, while the grip around his dick is now almost painful and Arthur lifts his hand up to his mouth and licks over his fingers, only then to once again wrap them around Eames length with a devilish glint in his eyes. Arthur clearly enjoys teasing him, always has. It is an incredible sight: the faint smirk at the corners of his lips when he sucks on every single digit, giving Eames a notion where he actually wants to put his lips.  
  
Eames beats him to it instead, sinks down in a fluid motion all while opening Arthur's pants and tries to get his teeth out of the way as best as he can when he finally goes down on him. He blinks up at the point man, licks and sucks until Arthur tilts his head back and makes these delicious hoarse little moans he never tried to hide around him even though he by now almost sounds as if he might be close to cry out.  
  
Only then, Eames lets his fingers roam over the base of Arthur's cock, he simply cannot swallow as much as he wants to and tightens his grip around it, just enough so that Eames can take his time and delay Arthur's orgasms just a little while longer. He loves to take the other's self-control apart little by little until Arthur eventually forgot why he was here, not that Eames actually wants him to, and simply focused on Eames and the things he did to him instead.  
  
Eames had always called it corny but he smiles when Arthur tries to hold his gaze, before he tightens his grip around his shoulders so as not to hold onto his hair. With his free hand Eames reaches for the other man's hands, intertwines their fingers before letting go again, an open indication that Arthur is free to do what he wants to.  
  
Apparently that really means grabbing fistfuls of Eames' hair and tugging at it, the pain is just on the verge of pleasurable, causing Eames to stifle a moan around Arthur, whose reaction is to give a sudden jerk, seemingly overstimulated caused by the added vibration -and, of course, Eames does it again. Within moments Arthur seems to give up the last remnants of his precious self-control right then and there.  
  
  
All the same, he seems to make an effort to push Eames away, clearly trying to warn him, but Eames refuses to pull back before Arthur comes down his throat accompanied by a sound that sounds more like a barely stifled sob than a moan. When Eames dares to look up again, he is slightly afraid of what might await him.  
  
Arthur looks a bit dazed, nonetheless pleased. It is his doing, Arthur lets him see this part of him, and somehow, it makes Eames incredibly happy just to know Arthur trusts him enough to let him see this almost sleepy, vulnerable side of himself. Previously, Eames had never thought about it like that, he had rarely ever stayed long enough afterwards to get to know the post-coital Arthur who apparently liked to lazily stroke through Eames' hair, over his cheeks, anything he can reach.   
  
Still, not once had either one of them made these encounters about himself. Arthur had always been as much of a passionate lover as Eames. There is still some uneasy part within him that pleads with Eames to just get out of there and run before it is too late.  
  
  
He cannot, though. Not, when Arthur keeps gazing at him as if that is also the exact impulse he expects him to follow. Not, when Arthur clearly already knows that Eames is seconds away from bolting out once again.  
  
Arthur pulls him up, his hands slide down Eames body before stroking barely gentle enough over the tip of his erection to still be pleasurable. There is only a slight barrier between naked skin and Eames groans, leans into the touch. His head is resting on Arthur's shoulder, and he breaths his scent in, mesmerized to have him here and for once Eames does not care that he wants more than just having Arthur in his bed, that he wants more than just Arthur's body.  
  
When Arthur shows the slightest inclination to eventually go down on his knees as well, Eames stops him in his tracks, his hand resting under Arthur's chin, delicately prompting him to look up, their gazes meeting as he slowly stands up to his full height again.  
  
"What do you want?", Arthur whispers eventually, his voice horse and full of promises yet there is an undertone, maybe one of sadness and Eames is too afraid to question it further.        


More than anything he wants to lie, to promise and grant him everything Arthur wishes for, just to keep him close. On the off chance of seeing his wonderfully honest smile again, Eames would lie, tell him everything to make the other man happy. However, Arthur deserves honesty. After all, Eames at last tells the truth, one of his biggest secrets.  
  
"You. I want you, and it scares me to death, Arthur."  
  
  
Arthur's mouth is back on his, swallowing his confession and knocking the breath out of him, and once more the force of it almost slams Eames into the door. The hand that suddenly appears behind his head weakens the impact a little, and then Arthur rakes his fingers through Eames' hair again, right above the base of his neck and presses their mouths and bodies almost impossibly closer together.  
  
Eames reacts just in time to catch him when Arthur levers himself up and turns them around in one flowing movement, so that Arthur's weight is partly supported by the door behind him while Eames' hands come to rest under Arthur's thighs, keeping him firmly in place. Only then Arthur straightens his back again, his arms folded behind Eames' neck.  
  
Arthur smirks into the kiss, wraps his legs around the small of Eames's back and keeps rocking their hips together, setting once more an achingly slow rhythm. As if that was not enough to tease Eames, he moans into the other's open mouth, laughs breathlessly when Eames pinches his ass as hard as he can without actually letting go of Arthur's thighs. In response Arthur moves his pelvis in slow circular motions until Eames' teasingly bites his lower lip, keeps it between his teeth and gives it a slight tug.  
  
"Bedroom, now.", Arthur manages to say, in-between kisses, his voice by now more of a growl than his professional tone, with his lip still between Eames's teeth and to him, it looks utterly ridiculous, as well as utterly endearing and Eames is glad that Arthur keeps talking before he can sathat ut loud, "Unless you like me pressed up against wood..."  
  
The slight wiggling of his eyebrows which accompanies his dead serious sounding statement is too much, and Eames cannot bite back the guttural sound, that more or less resembles a laugh and he has to tighten his hold a little. It is not that he is suddenly overcome by the realization that Arthur is and always had been beautiful like that, nestled up to him and simply enjoying himself but yet, it comes as a surprise to realize just how much he wanted Arthur to keep showing this part of himself, just how much infatuated Eames had become with him.   
  
"I love you, you wicked genius." He does not even think twice about the impact of his words. Still, before Arthur has time to actually think about a response to Eames dropping this particular bombshell, Eames kisses him less passionate than Arthur usually seems to like. But right now soft kisses seem to be appreciated if the way he nonverbally responds is anything to go by. Meanwhile, Eames is zealous to pretend he did not say anything at all before he wiggles his arms around a little and thus Arthur along with them until he finally manages to reach the door handle without having to set Arthur down.  
  
His plan to push or maybe kick the door open does not go as smoothly as he wants to, regardless. Therefore Arthur, who once again understands his intentions just based on Eames' fidgeting,  leans far enough back and gets the offensive obstacle out of the way with the force of the build up momentum. Still, he slips down a shade lower, his crotch area now at almost the same height as Eames', and as if it had been his plan all along Arthur keeps lowering himself down, little by little, until he ends up pressed flush against Eames' hard-on.  
  
"Don't you dare move right now.", Eames hisses when he eventually reaches his bed and captures the madman's hips, holds Arthur firmly in place while simultaneously trying to think about the most unerotic things he can imagine.  
Once again, Arthur is not helping, when he simply chuckles low in amusement and captures Eames' lips in yet another deep kiss. His lips and fingers linger on Eames' skin as if he cannot get enough of either Eames or touching him and might still have to convince himself that this is, indeed, real. Eames keeps  touching him back just as awed as Arthur seems to be.  
  
As a matter of fact, Eames follows a similar train of thought, he is itching to grab his totem, to try and make sense of this entire situation, after having already given up on seeing Arthur like this or maybe even in general again, it is almost too good to be true.  
  
  
Instead of fishing his totem out of one of his trouser pockets- a piece of clothing which lies somewhere behind them on the hallway floor anyway- he lowers Arthur down onto the bed and turns the bedside lamp on. They both blink slightly while they get used to the sudden source of lighting.   
  
  
Eames knows the answer already, still has to make sure it is what they both want. Thus,  he opens his bedside table, pretends to look for something and finally turns around again to notice that Arthur had not let him out of his sight for even a second.   
        
"I don't actually have anything here, so sorry to disappoint you if-"  
  
Arthur glares at him again, before he climbs over to Eames and reaches for his hand, pulling him back to bed and only stops moving, when Eames lies next to him.  
  
"Will you shut up already, had I known you were really just being skittish and not trying to spare my feelings, don't you dare deny it, I would have told you sooner. I know that you know already, but  I love you ...and now let me get you off, you asshole. I want to sleep and for once wake up next to you. Understood?"  
  
Eames does not care about such things, but in that moment be cannot think of anything more romantic to say or do than that.  
  
Shortly afterwards, they lie next to one another again after Eames had returned from the bathroom where he had been searching for a towel to at least clean themselves a little bit.  
  


Arthur is lying on his side, their bodies only covered by the blanket while they are almost touching head to toe and despite everything, despite still not being completely content with such emotional intimacy Eames does not want to be anywhere but there, with the man who loves him and whom he loves in return -even though it took him quite some time to realize that. Frankly, he is even looking forward to waking up next to Arthur, in a few hours as well as in the future.   

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Inception fanfic as well as my first story where I actually try to write about sexual content that is not just implied. This story was actually intened to be a short character study and then it just kept getting out of hand... anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this little story as much as I did writing. :)
> 
> (I might want to add that I tend to make fun of different accents and dialects, well, I poke fun at my own for that matter and I sincerly hope this story did not offend anyone from Saxony or elsewhere.)


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